by Rion, Paige
“I don’t mind sharing how I knew,” she says.
Mrs. Michaels smiles at her children and husband. “See! Callie’s happy to share. And why shouldn’t she be? You can see the two of them are blissfully in love. How could they not be—”
“Mom,” Dean says, a warning tone in his voice.
“Oh, fine.” Mrs. Michaels sighs and waves him away. “You’re so touchy about this. So private. It’s cute. Go ahead, Callie.”
The table quiets and Jinny leans her elbows on the table. “Yes, go ahead, Callie,” she quips.
Callie plays with her hands in her lap. She can see Dean watching her from the corner of her eye but refuses to look over at him. She can’t meet his gaze.
Clearing her throat, she tries to relieve the pressure welling in her chest, but it’s no use. She forces the hands in her lap to stop moving and grips the side of her chair to stop from squirming in her seat. She racks her brain for the right thing to say and nothing comes to her, so she begins, without a plan. “It was weird, the way it happened. One minute, Dean and I were just friends, and the next… I don’t know.” She pauses, chewing on her lip, unsure of whether or not she can say more.
She blinks, taking a deep breath and trying to calm the knocking against her ribs. Suddenly, she’s not sitting at a table with his family, staring across at Mrs. Michaels, whose hand rests over her heart. Instead, she’s sitting back in the car outside, wrapped up in Dean’s warm embrace, feeling the strength in his arms, consumed by his kiss. And this image, that feeling, allows her to find the words.
“It was like someone flicked a switch. In a room that had once been dark, where I could only see shapes and shadows, suddenly everything turned bright. The darkness lifted, and I could see... I saw him.”
Callie swallows, not daring to look at Dean beside her.
“Oh!” Mrs. Michaels’ hands fly to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. “That is…that’s wonderful,” she says, and she seems to be at a loss for words. She falls silent before raising her glass in the air. “To our Callie and our Dean,” she says, and everyone follows suit, raising their glasses in a toast.
Callie bumps glasses with Jinny and leans over the table to Mr. and Mrs. Michaels, then turns without thinking. Dean faces her, his glass outstretched and his eyes searching hers, seeming to pick at something deep inside of her. Her chest constricts, his sharp gaze makes it hard to breathe. “Callie,” he whispers, so quietly she doubts anyone else can hear.
She has no idea what he might say, but before he has a chance, his mother says, “Well, don’t just sit there staring at each other. Let’s finish eating, shall we? We don’t want the food getting cold.”
#
The rest of dinner goes smoothly. They eat a home-cooked meal, laugh, joke, and talk about things unrelated to Callie and Dean’s relationship. It feels just like old times in the Michaels household, and it’s not lost on her how easily she fits into this family.
After supper, Callie tries to help Mrs. Michaels with the dishes, but she shoos her away and gives the task to Jinny and Dean. Callie sinks down into the overstuffed couch in the family room across from Mr. Michaels, who rests in his favorite armchair. Several minutes later, Mrs. Michaels appears amid Jinny’s grumbling in the kitchen, followed by the banging of a pot.
“Callie, come upstairs a minute, would ya?” Mrs. Michaels asks, untying her apron.
“Sure.” Callie stands and follows her up the stairs into her bedroom, where Mrs. Michaels wordlessly rummages through her walk-in closet. She disappears inside of it and comes out, holding a relatively large white box, along with two small photo albums.
Callie settles onto the edge of Mrs. Michaels’ bed, as comfortable in here as her own home, borne from years of friendship and playing with Jinny as a child—not to mention the year she spent here after her parents’ passing. Settling in next to her, Mrs. Michaels takes the small albums from the top of the box and holds them out. “I don’t know that you’ve ever seen these before. I was the only one that had a camera with us that summer, so I’m not sure your mom had an album.”
Callie draws in a breath and stares down at the photo albums in Mrs. Michaels’ hands. She wasn’t expecting this tonight, and a part of her is unsure of whether or not she can take any more emotions swirling through her already overwhelmed system. She’s managed in the past week to push aside the fact that the anniversary of her parents’ death is approaching in the next few weeks, but she has built herself up on stilts. Her defenses are tiny brittle things that can be broken with the flick of a finger, and these albums may be one giant shove.
Mrs. Michaels must not notice Callie’s hesitation because she reaches over and flips open the cover to the first album. “You look so much like her in this one,” she says, pointing to the first photo. Her mother stands, long and lean, in a pink-and-black bandeau bikini. Her blonde hair is crimped and teased high on her head. She looks every bit the eighties beauty queen.
“We were only eighteen here. But we thought we were at the top of the world. Hot stuff. This was the summer your mother met your father.” Mrs. Michaels’ voice is velvet smooth, reverent, as she speaks, as if by remembering the dead, she can honor them somehow. But it’s not that easy for Callie. Even after almost five years, remembering comes with too much pain.
Mrs. Michaels flips the page. “My aunt and uncle had a cabin just outside the Allegheny Valley mountains we stayed at that summer. It was just us, in this little town, where you could walk to get ice cream and pizza, go bowling or to the drive-in, swim in the lake from dusk till dawn. We had so much fun.”
“Sounds like it,” Callie says.
“Go ahead.” Mrs. Michaels signals to Callie to turn the page, handing her the album. Flipping the page, she stops at a picture of her mother wearing a neon green miniskirt and lace fingerless gloves, and Callie can’t help but laugh at the enormous fluff of bangs and green eye shadow. “Wow.”
Mrs. Michaels chuckles. “Yeah. Hey, it was the early eighties, and it was just getting good. Parachute pants were just about to come out.”
“Oh, Lord.”
“Well, despite how awful it looks now, we were pretty hip back then. Your mother was always glammed up with the latest fashions. Always daring and willing to try something new. She had impeccable taste for the times. She’d be in awe of you. I’m sure that’s where you got it from.”
Callie nods and thinks of all the fashion advice she got from her mother. Fashion and clothes were their thing. Special shopping trips were always something they did together. Even as a teenager, in the years where most girls would rather die than be seen at the mall with a parent, Callie cherished the time with her mother and took an interest in her polished sense of style.
Callie, always gorgeous and put together, was the envy of her friends for having a mother so fashionable and in touch with the times. From her, Callie learned about quality garments. She was taught that clothes were more than just a necessary part of life—they were an expression of yourself. They could tell a story, set a mood. The right outfit could change your demeanor just by putting it on. And the times she spent with her searching for the perfect pair of shoes or jewelry to accessorize a particular top were far from superficial. They were the times Callie was able to fill her mother in on her life, spill about boys, or fights with friends. She could talk to her about her concerns with going to college in a short time, or the trouble she was having in a class. It was their time. And although Callie cherished it, she also took it for granted. She assumed she would always have those times with her, that her mother would always be there. But everything changed in a moment, and before Callie knew what had happened, both her parents were gone.
Callie’s throat feels raw, the memory of her mother scraping her inside out like sandpaper. The all-too-familiar ache in the back of her throat wills her to cry, but she chokes it back.
Mrs. Michaels flips the page. “Aha! Here it is. Here’s the one I wanted you to see.”
Callie
squints at the photo. “Is that…my dad?”
“Yep. He’s in a few more from this summer. This is when they first met. Did your mom ever tell you about that?”
Callie smiles. Growing up, her father always dodged the camera. So seeing these candid pictures of him now was like seeing something rare and exotic for the first time. “Not really. I knew he was younger than her and it was some time until they got married.”
Mrs. Michaels nods. “He was visiting the same area that summer with his cousins. They also had a little cottage there. Well, from the moment he laid eyes on your mother, he was enamored. Head over heels. But he was also a year younger, so he hadn’t graduated high school yet. Well, being the big bad graduates we were back then, the last thing either of us were interested in was a high school kid. We were on to bigger and better things. We wanted older men, college boys.”
Callie laughs at the way Mrs. Michaels’ voice changes as she speaks. She’s talking with such enthusiasm, moving her arms, her voice rising and falling with each word. “But your father was so determined. When it came right down to it, I’m not sure your mother ever really had a choice. Not with that relentless man. She tried to play it off to me as if she were doing him a favor by showing him attention, but I knew better. There was something so enigmatic, so different about him. At the end of the summer, your dad vowed to her that he was going to finish his final year of high school, get into a prestigious college, and graduate at the top of his class with a high-paying job in hand. And then she would marry him. Just like that, your dad laid out his plans for their future.”
Callie shifts in her seat. She never knew the details of her parents’ relationship before they got married. Like most kids and teenagers, she didn’t care much about how they met. She had only cared at the time about the present and how they affected her life in that moment. The opportunity to grow to the age where she saw them as more than parents, as people and individuals, was robbed from her the day of their car accident. And so, even though thinking about them tugged at her heart, she soaked up this new information.
“So, did it happen like that?” Callie asks, wanting to know more.
Mrs. Michaels nods. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Your father did exactly what he said. He graduated high school, went to Carnegie Mellon, and when he finished college, he had an amazing job to take with him. They had talked some while he was in school, but they only saw each other every couple months. Your mom even dated other people during that time. But the second he graduated and had his job, he came for her. And just like that, they got married. Your dad was estranged from his parents and your mom didn’t have a lot of family, so they got married in a small church, just the two of them, with myself and Rick as witnesses.”
“Wow,” Callie rubbed her fingers over the picture, as if by touching it she might feel them.
“Their relationship was a true fairy tale, Callie. Your mother married him and never looked back. And as for your father, there was never anyone else. You could tell that the day he met her. He fell in love with her right then… They loved each other so much, kiddo.” Mrs. Michaels reaches out and squeezes Callie’s hand, her voice thick.
Struggling to hold it in, Callie wipes at her damp eyes and sniffs. The bed jostles as Mrs. Michaels scoots closer and wraps an arm around her. She squeezes her shoulders and holds her tight, both of them staring at the picture, their thoughts in separate places. “I miss them, too. So much,” she whispers.
“I know,” Callie says. It’s the truth. Even as a child, she had seen the tight bonds of friendship her mother and Mrs. Michaels had. They were to each other what she and Jinny are.
“Anyway, I wanted to show you these because… Well, to be honest, I was digging through the mess in my closet after I found out about you and Dean, looking for this, actually,” she says, tapping the large white box. “And I came across the photos. Your mom and dad, they kind of remind me of you and Dean, in a way. There are similarities there.”
Callie glances up at Mrs. Michaels, frowning. Her kiss with Dean flashes in her head, a memory she can’t erase. “How so?”
“Well, for one, he’s cared about you for so long. The depth of feeling there wasn’t normal for someone his age. It was somehow so much more advanced, mature. It reminded me of how your father felt about your mother from the moment he met her.”
Callie’s frown deepens. Dean has certainly been there for Callie over the years, advancing from obnoxious younger brother to one of the biggest supporters she had when her parents died. Obviously, Mrs. Michaels is taking the close bond they had in those years and is twisting it now that she thinks they’re together. There’s no way Dean could’ve had feelings all these years beyond friendship, could he?
No. No way. I would know.
Callie bites her lips, wondering if she should tell Mrs. Michaels the truth. “Mrs. Michaels…”
What can I say? I’m not really in love with your son? We were just pretending?
Anything she says now will look completely ridiculous, considering the fact that Mrs. Michaels caught them making out. How can she explain that?
Mrs. Michaels reaches out and pats Callie’s leg, interrupting her thoughts. “One of the reasons I brought you up here is because I know graduation is coming up. And I realize you’re getting that fancy job…”
Callie drops her gaze, feeling double the guilt for Mrs. Michaels’ ignorance at her financial issues.
“But I want you to know you’re still welcome here. Whether you run out and get an apartment, stay at the one you have, or decide to just come back here for a while. I want you to know that this is your home, too. It's the way your mom would’ve wanted it. It’s what I would’ve wanted for Jinny and Dean if it had been me. I don’t want you to think that just because you’re dating Dean that anything has to change or that you can’t live here if you need to. If anything, it makes you family more than ever.”
Family. Those words tug at her heart. It’s how she feels about the Michaels, and to hear it confirmed only solidifies the feeling more. But along with that comes a gut-wrenching fear. Because no one knows more than Callie that loving means the opportunity for loss, the possibility of heartbreak. And she wonders now if their eventual mock breakup might somehow change the way Mrs. Michaels feels about her.
“Thanks,” Callie manages, hoping Mrs. Michaels doesn’t notice the hitch in her voice.
But she mustn’t, because she tugs open the top of the box and says, “Now, I don’t want you to freak out. I’m not insinuating anything or trying to push you and Dean toward anything. I just figured you’re graduating and will officially be on your own soon, so I wanted you to know that I have this.” She pauses, gripping the contents of whatever’s in the box.
What now? Callie rubs the back of her neck, unsure of whether she can take any more trips down memory lane.
“When you graduate and get settled wherever you think you’re going to stay, I have several boxes of stuff for you. Things that were your parents’ or that were from your home. I know you’re not ready for most of that now. Maybe you never will be. That’s up to you to decide.” She places a warm hand on Callie’s leg and continues. “But I see how serious you and Dean are about each other.”
I’m such a jerk.
“And I know how he feels about you. It’s obvious. So, I just thought… I just wanted you to know that I’m holding onto this for whenever you need it. Whether it be you and Dean or not…”
The guilt is eating me alive. Just show it to me! Whatever it is, just get this over with.
Mrs. Michaels dips her second hand back into the box and pulls out a white, lacy sheath. Callie stares at it for a long time, not understanding, wondering what in the world this is and why Mrs. Michaels is making a big deal out of it. Until it dawns on her. The pictures of Mom and Dad when they first met… Their love story… This is…
No. Callie freezes. She can’t move and her eyes are trained on the dress, frozen in time.
“When we
cleaned out your mom and dad’s place, I found this and saved it. I thought you might want it, even just to make a garter, hanky, veil or something out of it.”
“Mom’s wedding dress,” Callie whispers. Leaning forward, she touches the fabric with a single finger, as if it might disintegrate at the slightest of touches. Tears form in her eyes and she knows there’s no stopping them this time.
In the months following her parents’ car accident, she was so inside her head, in so much grief, she had been completely unaware of everything around her. The Michaels had single-handedly taken care of her parents’ will, cleaned out their possessions. The house hadn’t been paid off, and so the decision to sell her family home had been borne of necessity. The Michaels chose, instead, to set aside her father’s hefty insurance policy to pay for her college tuition and living expenses. Callie would’ve had no way to know what items they had kept of her parents’. Until now, her mother’s simple lace dress had remained only in her memory.
The ball that forms in her throat can’t be stopped. She tries to choke back the tears but can’t. No matter how many times Callie swallows, it remains, unwilling and incapable of being dislodged.
“Your parents would be really proud of you, you know. You’ve got your mother’s free spirit, beauty, and love for fashion. That, combined with your father’s heart and his work ethic. They’re probably in heaven, smiling down on you right this moment. They’d be so proud of you, Callie.”
Oh, God. Don’t say that. Not that…
Mrs. Michaels meets her eyes. “No, scratch that. They are proud of you. This, I know. Because I sure am.”
Callie squeezes her eyes closed, letting the tears fall down her cheeks, to drip onto the dress she now clutches in her hands.
She pictures her mother, what she might’ve looked like as she gave Callie this dress, and she can feel her presence around her. In the air. In this room.
Would she be proud? There are so many things Callie wouldn’t have wanted them to know about. The escort service. Her monstrous debt. Faking a relationship with Dean, especially to Mrs. Michaels.
